"What a sweet name you have got," I replied automatically, still trying to make sense of her sudden appearance. Then, as if the words had a will of their own, they slipped out: "I think I've seen you before in my dreams."
The kitchen fell silent. My mother's wooden spoon clattered against the pot as she turned sharply. "Stop flirting with her."
"But—" The protest died in my throat under her warning look.
"So why is she here?" I asked instead, turning back to the mysterious girl.
Eli shifted slightly, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. "I'm on holiday," she explained softly. "I came to stay with my uncle—Mr. Simon next door—but they left this morning. They… forgot to tell me. They'll be back in a week." She glanced up through her lashes. "Mr. Simon mentioned you on the phone after I arrived. That's why I was calling your name."
Before I could respond, my sister bounced forward, her braids swinging. "Since she's alone, I'll stay with her!"
At the exact same moment, my mother wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. "Since you are alone, why don't you have dinner with us."
The conversation swirled around me, but my eyes stayed locked on Eli. There was something about her—the way the light caught in her eyes, the slight hesitation in her voice—that felt... different.
Dinner passed in a haze of clinking utensils and casual chatter. Eli fit into our family strangely well, laughing at my father's jokes and helping my mother clear the plates.
Later, under a sky heavy with stars, my sister linked arms with Eli. "Come on, I'll walk you back to Mr. Simon's place."
I lingered in the doorway, the night air cool on my skin as they disappeared into the night, Eli's dark hair swaying with each step. The streetlamp cast long shadows behind them until they turned the corner and were gone.
Standing there in the sudden quiet, I couldn't shake the feeling that something extraordinary had just walked into my life—and that nothing would ever be quite the same again.
The night wrapped around me like a heavy cloak as I drifted toward sleep—until a sound jolted me awake.
*Thump… thump… thump…*
The sound vibrated through my bones, A deep, resonant heartbeat, slow and steady, filled the dark room, making my own chest tighten. It wasn't mine. I sat up, my breath quickening, and closed my eyes, forcing myself into measured inhales and exhales. The rhythm of my own breath gradually drowned out the phantom sound, and silence returned.
When I opened my eyes again, the world outside my window beckoned. I pushed open the pane, and cool air brushed my face as I opened the window. Above, the stars shimmered like scattered diamonds, bright and endless.
And then—I saw her.
Eli stood beneath the silver glow of the moon, her white nightgown glowing softly, rippling without wind, her head tilted toward the sky, her face peaceful, almost like she was listening to something I couldn't hear. The wind played with her long, dark hair —dark as spilled ink— lifting it gently like ribbons in the breeze.
The heartbeat returned.
*Thump… thump… thump…*
Louder now. Closer. This time, it came from her direction, matching the frantic rhythm in my chest.
As if hearing my thoughts, she turned her gaze toward me.
Our eyes met, and for a moment, everything stopped.
The world seemed to have slowed down—the rustling leaves, the distant ocean, even my own breath. The world blurred at the edges, leaving only her in sharp, aching clarity. The moonlight shone in her dark eyes, and in them, I saw myself reflected clearly, like a man staring into the depths of an endless well.
Her lips formed my name in perfect silence, but no sound came out.
The air thickened, the night itself holding its breath. The rustling leaves stilled. The distant crash of waves faded. Even the stars seemed to pause in their dance.
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. It was as if her gaze held me there, pulling me into a dream.
Then, slowly, she smiled—a small, secret smile that made my heart skip.
"G-Good night," I finally managed to say.
She nodded, her fingers brushing the window frame before she closed it, sealing herself away.
The moment she disappeared, the world rushed back in—sound, motion, breath. I collapsed onto my bed, my limbs heavy, exhausted, my mind adrift. The last thing I remembered was the faint scent of jasmine lingering in the air before sleep claimed me.
Morning came brutally bright; sunlight streamed through the curtains when I woke.
The clock read 8 AM.
And my chest ached—not from the phantom heartbeat, but from its absence.